The institution
by cedricsowner
Summary: Agent Rossi has played with fire before, but this time he gets closer to the flame than ever. An alternative title would have been "the source of all evil", but in the end I found this one catchier… as always, mind the rating!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and intend no copyright infringement.**

**Author's note: With the kind help of Sienna27 I've corrected some phrases in chapter 3 & 8. **

The institution

_According to a North Indian folk tale one day a saint was taking a bath in a river when he noticed a scorpion, drowning in the current. The holy man lifted it out of the water. Almost immediately the creature stung him, but nevertheless he carried it to the safety of the shore. Asked why he had rescued the ungrateful thing, he answered that the scorpion had only followed its nature, as he had followed his: It was the nature of a scorpion to sting and the nature of a saint to save lives._

"Did you know that Iowa is unofficially known as the "Tall Corn State"?, Reid asked Morgan who was standing next to him.

"No, but it doesn't surprise me", the agent replied, taking in the environment. They were gathered on a narrow asphalt road practically in the middle of nowhere. All around them were giant cornfields, stretching up to the horizon in every direction. "Have you ever read "Children of the corn"?", he asked Reid.

"The story is set in Nebraska", the young doctor answered matter-of-factly, only to add, much less self-confident: "We'll be finished here by sunset, won't we?"

Morgan chuckled. "What, are you afraid of "He Who Walks Behind The Rows"?"

"I don't think a supernatural being did this", Rossi chipped in, coming up behind them. "Everything is very clean. One shot in the neck of the kneeling victim. Looks like an execution to me."

"Then we should find out what the unsub thought he was punishing him for…", Derek suggested.

"We're dealing with a very organized, extremely self-controlled perpetrator who has killed four times yet", Reid recapitulated. "Always the same MO, no detectable escalation. The unsub stops his victims under some kind of pretext, which tells us his appearance is unobtrusive, harmless, probably even appealing. The victims weren't tortured or sexually molested…"

"I don't think he spends much time with them", Rossi took up from there. "He forces them to kneel down, shoots them, drives away. Could be a matter of only two or three minutes."

"So the act of killing doesn't seem to be that important to him…", Reid continued. "Although the fact that he makes the victims kneel down indicates that he wants them to feel inferior, dominated, weak… Besides that he doesn't hide the bodies. They were all discovered along this particular road, in plain sight. Maybe he wants to deliver a message…"

"The big question is: Does the unsub pick his targets randomly or does he explicitly set out to kill these special individuals? What do we know about our newest victim?", Morgan asked Hotchner who was joining them, accompanied by Prentiss and JJ.

"Leland Bornholm, a traveler, just like the other three", Hotch recounted what the sheriff had just told him. "But that's about the only thing they have in common – different ages, hometowns, professions, social backgrounds, hobbies and they didn't know each other as far as we can tell yet."

"Four victims in eight months", Morgan mused. "Varying time spans in between. Is the unsub a local or a traveler himself?"

Aaron Hotchner took a long look up and down the deserted road. "This doesn't strike me as one of the area's main artery roads. An unsub waiting for a random victim would probably have to be very patient. It's vital that we establish where he takes up the pursuit of his targets."

"According to this credit card receipt Bornholm refueled his car about 15 minutes before it happened", Prentiss said, studying a piece of paper bagged in a clear plastic folder. "Let's talk to the gas station's staff, maybe they remember something." Hotch nodded in agreement. Prentiss motioned Reid to follow her. Together they walked to the second of the two government SUVs they had picked up after their arrival. They were still loaded with bags since they had headed straight from the airport to this new crime scene.

Morgan grinned at his young colleague's badly hidden relief to be getting away from the cornfields. "He still scares way too easily", he thought, wondering if he could turn this into some sort of prank next Halloween. Garcia would surely come up with a suggestion…

"Four victims in eight months." Rossi slowly adjusted his sunglasses. "What were all these travelers doing out here?"

Hotch wanted to reply something, but Reid, standing next to the SUV and staring at something, interrupted him: "Everybody come here immediately!", he shouted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and intend no copyright infringement.**

A small yellow post-it note had been attached to the second SUV's right rearview mirror.

"Whoever did this was hiding in the field", Morgan said, now looking at the corn with a slightly uneasy feeling. Stephen King had captured a grain of truth with his short story – you never knew what was lurking behind these solid walls of towering green plants. "Look how close the car is parked to the corn. The mirror all but touches the leaves. This is an ideal hiding place: You're totally shielded from view. The person who attached this only needed to reach out with his hand. Since nobody was paying attention to the cars this could have happened any moment in the past 1½ hours."

Hotch agreed: "A search would be fruitless. These fields are like labyrinths. The ground is bone dry and rock-hard. No chance to find footprints. The person who left this note was very careful – the plants are all unharmed, no ripped leaves or anything else that could help us detect where he came from or where he went."

Eyes squinting, Reid read the note: "YOU SHOULD TAKE A LOOK AT THREE-ROOFS-FARM!", it said in black block letters.

"Have you ever heard of this farm?", Hotchner asked the sheriff, a middle-aged man with a round face, pale baby-blue eyes and very little hair. Truth to be told, he resembled a mole in the sunshine.

"It's a few miles down the road", he explained. "Changed ownership a couple of years ago. Folks pretty much keep to themselves. Some kind of rehab center. Never had any trouble with them."

"Rehab center?", Rossi repeated. "That means patients come from outside to spend some time there – our victims could have very well been on their way to this institution." JJ winced a bit – there was a slight accusatory undertone in the senior agent's voice which wouldn't ameliorate the relationship with the local authorities who had anyway been reluctant to invite the FBI. She could only hope the sheriff was as imperceptive as his looks implied.

Unfortunately, in his case appearances were deceiving. "Don't think we didn't come up with the idea ourselves", he gave back with a hint of anger. "Dr. Bell, director of the center, denied knowing anything about these men."

"Somebody thinks we should ask him again", Rossi stated.

Hotch nodded. "Prentiss, Reid, you go and talk to the gas station staff. David and me take a look at this farm. Morgan, you and JJ stay with the sheriff. Try to complete the victimology with the parts of the case files we haven't seen yet. And contact Garcia, tell her to get us some background information."

As the other agents drove off, Derek took out his mobile.

"You just called the "once in a lifetime opportunity - hotline", Garcia chirped. "Dial "1" if you wish for eternal bliss, dial "2" if you desire omniscient knowledge."

"I think I'll choose "2"', Morgan answered, smiling.

"Now I'm disappointed…"

"Maybe I can call again, after you've found me some background information on the Three-Roofs-Farm, Iowa, located a couple of miles from our newest crime scene…"

"There's a reason this is called _once in a lifetime_ opportunity, honey", Garcia replied sweetly, already typing away, opening and closing screen windows at top speed. "But there's always the hot stud exemption clause, of course…" She drew a sharp breath. Abruptly, her voice changed into no-nonsense mode: "Oh my God…", she whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and intend no copyright infringement.**

Three-Roofs-Farm looked exactly like the name said: A farm with three roofs. The huge white, black-roofed main building was flanked by two massive barns, painted in grayish blue. Together the buildings formed a horseshoe around a paved, dusty square, empty except for a large outdoor chess set and a bench in one corner. Rossi recognized the constellation of the pieces – a complicated chess problem, composed by an Italian grandmaster at the beginning of the 20th century. Reid had read an article about it on the jet and the senior agent hadn't been fast enough to escape his explanation. It irked him a little that he couldn't remember the name.

A couple of silver maple trees rustled with their leaves in the wind, otherwise eerie silence reigned. A fitting atmosphere, considering what Garcia had just found out about the so-called rehab center. "They must know we're here", Hotch said tensely. "From these windows you can see anyone approaching on this road for at least a mile." Adrenaline rushed through their veins. Situations like these were more responsible for the high rate of heart-attacks among the Bureau's agents then all actual shootouts combined: The uncertainness, the not-knowing what awaited them in the next few minutes – witness or offender? Hospitality or hostility? – took its toll on practically everybody in one form or another.

All of a sudden a door burst open and something big and yelping rushed towards them – a dog of indeterminable race with long brown-black hair and a wildly wagging tail. He was accompanied by a lanky young man with red hair and freckles, not older than eighteen or nineteen. "Browser, come back", he shouted. Smiling sheepishly, the boy approached the agents. "I'm sorry, he's always so impulsive. He just loves meeting people…"

"Probably not the ideal watchdog…" Rossi, who had some experience with hunting dogs, patted the animal's back.

"Oh, he makes so much noise welcoming people, I think we'll notice when he discovers a burglar or something", the boy laughed. "Most likely he'll pin him to the ground and lick his face, waking up the whole house while doing so… My name is Benjamin." He extended a hand towards the FBI men. "Can I help you?"

"Actually we're looking for Dr. Arthur Bell", Hotch said, flashing his id. The boy was a little too friendly for his taste. There was intense nervousness hiding behind his ostentatiously affable behavior. From Rossi's furrowed brows he could see that his elder colleague had noticed this, too.

"He's in his office. Please follow me." Still prepared for everything, they climbed the few steps to the porch and crossed the main building's doorstep. Benjamin led them through a comfortable farmhouse complete with fireplace, cushy sofas and hunting memorabilia on the wall. Rossi noticed an edition of The Decameron lying on an armrest. It looked as well thumbed as his own copy. The rooms made the impression of being lived-in, but not a soul could be seen. Even Dr. Bell's office was empty. The boy was surprised: "Oh, maybe he was called away… I go and find him…"

"From this window he can watch the road unhampered by any tree or other building. He must have seen us coming", Rossi stated. "Should we get a warrant?"

"Wouldn't that be a little hasty? On what grounds would such a warrant be issued?", a short, practically hairless man with a red face and a stubby nose said, standing in the doorframe.

"Well, harboring serial killers usually doesn't go down too well with most judges…", Rossi replied with hardly hidden hostility, turning to face the elusive Dr. Bell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and intend no copyright infringement.**

The psychiatrist took a deep, resigned breath. "Three-Roofs-Farm is a private institution which offers help to people who fear that their needs and drives might harm others under certain circumstances."

"You're treating perverts who dream of torturing and killing innocents", Rossi spat.

"We're helping people to deal with their fantasies and wishes in order to prevent anti-social behavior. I don't see where the problem is."

"The problem", the senior agent growled, "is that you're accumulating a sizable amount of potentially dangerous persons in a small area without telling anyone."

The psychiatrist put his head back as if fighting a sudden pain. "Do you have any idea what happens the second it becomes publically known what we're doing here? There's a similar institution in Germany which offers help to people who want to curb their pedophile desires before anyone gets hurt. Since its foundation in 1995 it had to deal with a dozen arson attacks, hundreds of bomb threats and uncountable amounts of hate mail. Not to mention the constant harassment staff and patients have to endure and the numerous acts of vandalism against the building. _We_'ve had to move twice so far, changed our name with every new location… Each change of place destroys tediously build up relationships and is nothing but an unnecessary waste of time and scarce money urgently needed for other purposes."

"You've got my deepest sympathy", Rossi stated grimly.

"The problem is", Hotchner said gravely, "that by drawing so many potentially dangerous people to one spot, you dramatically enhance the risk for unsuspecting citizens to fall prey to one of them."

"_Potentially dangerous _doesn't mean _inevitably dangerous_", the psychiatrist replied curtly.

"In the last eight months somebody plastered the road to this farm with dead bodies!", Rossi roared.

Face unreadable, Dr. Bell turned his head towards the window. "I know", he said quietly. "These men were all scheduled to be treated here."

At this, Aaron Hotchner almost lost the self-composure he was famous for. "We need access to all your patients' files", he said tersely.

"I can't allow that!" The doctor vehemently disagreed. "These people come here of their own free will. None of them has ever actually committed a serious crime. I can't allow that their names get dragged into the dirt by giving them to the police. What if somebody leaks them to the media? An institution like this can only work on the basis of anonymity. I must protect my patients."

"Just like you protected those four men who died on the way to your little sanctuary? After the second victim you must at least have had a hazy notion that someone was targeting your patients, but you didn't bother warning or informing anyone. On the contrary: You _lied_ to the sheriff, which might have cost another two lives." Hotch's voice was cold as ice. "I want these files in an hour's time."

Suddenly looking ten years older, Dr. Bell caved in, reached into his pocket and took out a set of keys. "The files are kept in a special room in the cellar." In a sad attempt to symbolically demonstrate his unwillingness, he placed the keys on his desk, thus making Hotchner reach for it. "Benjamin can help you with the packing." The doctor collapsed into a chair. "I didn't know what to do…", he whispered.

As the agents exited Bell's office, a fragile-looking woman somewhere between fifty and sixty in a white nurse's attire entered the room. "You did the right thing by choosing to cooperate", she told the doctor in a consolatory tone.

"Oh Sarah…", he sighed. "…by helping one person, you harm another. Why can't there be easy answers?"

They found Benjamin on one of the sofas downstairs, sitting opposite an elderly man with a trimmed beard, carefully done hair and clear gray eyes. He was reading the Decameron copy Rossi had noticed earlier. As Hotch and he came down the stairs, the boy and the elderly man exchanged glances. Benjamin looked scared like a deer caught in headlights, anxiously frozen to the spot. His elderly companion addressed him in a calm, encouraging tone: "Go ahead boy. There's no use in hiding this. Any delay would only make things worse. It's better to confess now." Trembling, Benjamin turned to the agents.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and intend no copyright infringement.**

"This boy, Benjamin, attached the note to the mirror", Hotchner informed the others as they got together to discuss the files they had obtained from the farm. "Following the sheriff's visit a couple of weeks ago, he ear-witnessed an argument between Dr. Bell and Nurse Sarah who supervises the medical treatment. She disagreed with Bell's tactic of keeping quiet about the connection to the victims. Thus Benjamin learned about the murdered patients-to-be. When he heard the sirens after the fourth victim was discovered he concluded that the unsub had struck again and decided that he had to do something."

"What an upright citizen!", Prentiss said ironically. "Could _he_ be our unsub? By placing the note he injected himself into the investigation. What does his file reveal?"

"His file reveals a lot, but nothing that would make him more suspicious than any other guest of the farm. On the contrary, I think he…", Rossi's brows rounded in surprise as he bit into a massive brownie. "Good Lord, Reid, where did you get those? They are ambrosial."

"There's a wonderful café called "Betty's place" right opposite the gas station – I just couldn't resist…"

Hotch threw them a glance which said _"Could we please get back to business?"_ Prentiss oppressed a smile and casually handed him half of her brownie while summarizing what they had found out at the gas station: "All four victims refueled their cars there shortly before they got killed, but this doesn't necessarily mean something – it's a small town, there's only one gas station in a thirty miles radius… Anyway, the staff didn't notice anything."

"The files aren't helpful, either", Morgan continued. "Currently there are twelve patients at the farm, but none of them fantasizes about executing others. There's creepy stuff in there, but nothing that fits our unsub's MO."

"_If_ they all told the truth…", Prentiss pointed out. "Big if."

"Not so big at all", Hotch said, wiping his hands clean after polishing off the brownie. "They enter the institution of their own free will, to learn how to deal with their fantasies. The treatment can only be successful if they tell the truth. Since it was never planned that any law enforcer gets to see these files, it's rather unlikely that they lied about their desires."

"Unless of course someone explicitly came to the farm to target potential serial killers…", Reid threw in. "Maybe someone merely poses as a person with a problem… to take revenge, for example. Garcia? Could you check if any of the patients lost a family member to a serial killer?", he addressed the microphone through which their technical researcher was listening in.

"Your wish is my command!", she replied happily, already typing away.

Rossi turned to Hotchner, finger tapping on Benjamin's case. "We'll tackle Bell about this, won't we?"

Hotch nodded, face grave. "We definitely will."

Outside in the sheriff's office some sort of commotion was going on. "I want to talk to them", someone insisted firmly, in a high-pitched voice. Seconds later the door burst open and a stout woman came stomping into the room. Behind her the sheriff threw up his hands in a gesture of apology. "I'm Mrs. Leland Bornholm. You are the FBI agents investigating my husband's murder?", she demanded to know. Under different circumstances her appearance would have made the team smile: The iron perm, the oversized handbag, the unfavorable skirt which made her posterior look much bigger than it probably was… She looked like a caricature – if not for her eyes, red from crying, her pale face and her shaking hands.

"Have you found out why he was here or are you still stumbling around in the darkness?", she barked aggressively. "I've lost a son in 9/11 so don't you dare to wise-ass me about well thought out FBI investigation tactics!"

Hotch calmly greeted the woman, introduced himself and the team and informed her that they already knew what purpose had led her husband to this town.

"Don't even think of caring less about his death just because he had this problem!", she snarled, still agitated. "He was a fine man and a good father. Then our son died in that terrible attack and things changed… Suddenly he was so full of anger… uncontrollable rages… One day he killed our dog… I had to leave him - it wasn't safe anymore… but then I found out about this Dr. Bell and the treatment he offered. I promised my husband I would come back to him if he underwent a therapy here…" Her voice trailed off. Suddenly all anger fell away from her and they found a broken woman, filled with poignant grief, looking at them.

"I assure you, we'll do everything in our power to find your husband's murderer", Hotchner stated firmly. JJ stepped up, offered the woman a sympathetic ear and led her out of the room.

At this very moment, the loudspeaker sprang to life. "I've got something." Garcia's worried voice indicated bad news. "None of the farm's current guests lost someone through any kind of homicide…" They could all feel the "but" coming. "…but a staff member lost a daughter to the Genesee River Killer a couple of years ago..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and intend no copyright infringement.**

One of the constants of life on Three-Roofs-Farm seemed to be that no one was directly available. The agents found Benjamin, Browser and the elderly man, whose name, as they had learned from the files, was Leonard Carter, playing outdoor chess when they arrived. The person Garcia had singled out as the potential unsub was working somewhere on the estate with a couple of patients. Brian was only too happy to show the way. Hotch and the rest of the team followed his lead, except Rossi who stayed behind with Carter. The senior agent knew that no one actually _looked_ like a serial killer (it would make his job so much easier), but the contrast between this man's demeanor and his fantasies had nevertheless taken him by surprise.

"This chess problem was composed by some Italian, wasn't it?", the profiler asked, looking at the pieces.

"Dr. Adriano Chicco", Carter replied. "You play chess?"

"The young agent does. " Rossi nodded in the direction where Reid and the others had vanished. "And he loves complicated explanations… couldn't get away fast enough. I prefer hunting."

"Ah, yes, hunting." The other man looked up from the pieces he had been studying. "I was an avid hunter, till Dr. Bell told me it would be better to find another hobby. The thrill of the chase and the intimate act of killing stimulate my unwanted desires. Chess is safer. Much safer."

"You spend a lot of time here", the agent said.

"Most of the year. Can't afford staying all the time, though."

"I can't imagine… living in a place like this… isolated from the rest of the world… it's like exile or prison…"

"These five months I spend out on the road each year, earning money to pay for my sojourn here, are sheer hell. Every time I leave it feels like I'm going into battle and every time I get back I feel like having survived one, at least for the moment. I'll have to set out again next month and I'm already losing sleep over it. I hope we won't meet again then." He looked straight at Rossi.

"I just don't believe it!", an angry voice could be heard from afar. Seconds later Dr. Bell rounded the corner of one of the barns. "I saw your people talking to Nurse Sarah. They wouldn't let me come closer! Don't tell me you're suspecting _her_! Of all people! She's the soul of this institution, its beating heart! Everyone can come to Nurse Sarah! She would never, never...!"

Leonard Carter looked shocked, too. "Nurse Sarah? You must be mistaken."

"We have reasons to believe she might be our perpetrator, yes", Rossi replied curtly. "But nothing is definitive yet. Let the agents talk to her, then things will become clearer." The senior agent eyed the psychiatrist coldly. "There's something I'd like to talk about with _you_", he said. Carter understood the hint and withdrew to the porch.

"I've read Benjamin Williams' case file…", the profiler began.

Bell nodded apprehensively. "Benjamin is no potential serial killer. He has no violent fantasies whatsoever. The stuff he talks about in his sessions is completely made up, probably from stuff he finds on the internet."

"You're aware of that and you're still keeping him here?", Rossi growled.

"He was fifteen or sixteen when he suddenly turned up on our doorstep. Like a stray cat. I tried to locate his parents, but turned up with zilch. Considering the burn marks and other signs of physical abuse his body displayed that's probably not such a bad thing after all. He needed a home and I gave him one."

"Under the pretext that he's a potential danger to society?" The agent couldn't believe his ears.

"What should I have done with him? He had been to at least a dozen different social facilities. In the last one someone renewed the burn marks his parents gave him."

"You're treating him like a patient. As if he indeed was what he pretends to be! If you are really such a generous, philanthropic person, why don't you tell him that you know the truth and that he can stay here no matter what? You don't want to help him, you're studying him like a lab rat!" Rossi clenched his teeth.

"Don't you see that generosity is not what he wants? He's a young man, still emotionally developing. Hell, as a profiler you should know what constant helplessness does to the mind! By letting him believe that he's outsmarting us, I boost his self-image. Can't you see I'm trying to heal the wounds he received in his childhood? The day he walks out of here by his own choice, upright and ready to face the world, will be the proudest day in my life!"

Rossi slowly nodded. He wasn't completely convinced, but the man had a point, granted. "But what about Leonard Carter?", he asked.

"Leonard? That's a totally different story", the psychiatrist said, slightly puzzled. "Look, I want to see what your people are doing to Sarah…" He turned to go.

"Freeze", someone hissed angrily.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and intend no copyright infringement.**

"I could have never hurt any of these people", Sarah Baxter said with emphasis. The wind softly tousled her thin gray hair. The agents were alone with her. Donald Wilcox, another psychiatrist who worked on the farm, was taking care of the patients she had been chaperoning and they had shooed a distressed Benjamin, complete with Browser, away. The poor boy had been totally shocked when he had realized why they had wanted to talk to Nurse Sarah.

"Your daughter was killed by the Genesee River Killer and now you're working in a facility which helps persons who fear they might become a monster like the one who took her life? Doesn't make much sense to me… unless of course you're up for revenge", Morgan stated. "Not that something like that wouldn't be understandable… A jury surely would take your special situation into consideration…"

She cut him off angrily: "This is exactly the kind of thinking everyone is caught up in! Nothing, absolutely nothing makes my Laura alive again. But on her grave I swore I would do everything in my power to protect as many people as possible from suffering the same fate. Fiercer penalties don't prevent anything – they're only effective in the aftermath, if the perpetrator is caught. Deterrence doesn't work. But what Dr. Bell does works."

"You've got a gun license, Ms. Baxter", Hotchner said. "And you won several marksmen competitions…"

"That was forty years ago!", she all but screamed.

"You still know how to handle a gun, don't you?", Morgan pushed her again. "And you knew exactly when the new patients were due to arrive. Look, we want to help you…"

Suddenly Reid did something which was usually an absolute no-no: He interrupted his colleagues' interview. "Do you hear that?" he asked. His alarmed voice made everyone listen instantly. Yes, they could hear something. Some sort of noise, coming from the direction of the farm. It was an unsettling sound, carried towards them by the wind that ruffled the ever-silent cornfields. "Is that Browser?" The second the young doctor had voiced his question, they all recognized it: They were hearing a dog's bark, loud and hysterical. Dropping everything, they rushed to the farm.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and intend no copyright infringement.**

What they found made everyone's blood run cold. A woman stood in front of Dr. Bell, pointing her gun straight at him. She was in her forties, dyed hair, a little out of shape but not unattractive. Her stance, the way she had positioned herself, was non-ambiguous: She had handled a weapon before and she knew what she was doing. "That's Betty!", Reid whispered, shocked. "The café owner!" Browser, feeling the terrible tension in the air, was barking at her at the top of his lungs.

"Kneel down!", she snarled at Bell.

"Betty, I don't understand…", the psychiatrist croaked, hands above his head, doing as she said. Browser rushed to his side, licked his face, started barking again. Everyone else stood rooted to the spot. The agents had drawn their weapons, but Betty obviously didn't care.

"You don't even recognize me, do you? Of course, since you weren't at the funeral… You didn't bother… You sent money and thought everything would be alright. That monster of yours took my little boy! Nothing is ever going to be alright again!" Her shrill voice, mixed with the dogs panic-stricken bark resulted in a painful cacophony of sounds.

"Betty…" Rossi, who was standing closest, tried to calm her, but Bell nipped his effort in the bud by interrupting him.

"You're Joel Etherton's mother…", the psychiatrist realized, slumping down. The senior agent had hardly ever seen a man who looked more guilt-stricken.

"Joel was eight when that beast kidnapped, molested and killed him! Thank God the creature was shot by the police when he tried to evade his detention. And then somebody made this generous anonymous donation to us – money for a decent funeral… My husband was actually happy… but I knew from the start that something was wrong with that money. I nosed around a bit and tracked its source down: You! You and your condemned institution! You treated the bastard who killed my son! You knew what a monster he was and told nobody! You let him walk free!"

"He came of his own free will, there had been no way to keep him from leaving…" Bell's voice was hardly audible over all the noise the dog made.

"At first I thought it would be sufficient to kill all those so-called patients of yours. But now I see that you are the source of all evil and I'm going to eradicate it once and for all!"

At the very moment she pulled the trigger several things happened at the same time: Browser jumped at Betty, Benjamin threw himself in the line of fire, Leonard Carter followed suit, in a vain attempt to restrain Benjamin and Morgan brought Betty down. In the blink of an eye, Prentiss was with him and helped pinning her down. The deadly report of the gun drowned all sounds. Nothing is louder than sudden quietness.

The first noise that broke the scene's breathless silence was a painful, sustained howl from Browser. Leonard Carter attempted to get up, but stumbled to the ground, his stomach and hands covered in blood. "We need an ambulance!", he cried. Hotch had already called one. Seconds later he and Rossi were at Carter's side. They all bent over the shaking bundle Dr. Bell was holding in his arms. The agents both knew what a burst abdominal aorta looked like, and Carter, the experienced hunter, knew it, too.

"Dad…", Benjamin whispered, eyes locking with Dr. Bell's for the last time before his sight broke forever.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and intend no copyright infringement.**

On the evening of Benjamin's funeral Rossi needed a breath of fresh air. Or so he said. Outside it was a glorious night: Deep and dark with no moon but a million sparkling stars covering the ink-black sky. He asked Leonard Carter to accompany him and reluctantly the elderly man agreed. They walked wordlessly for a while, Rossi taking the lead. Carter followed him up to a shallow hill, hardly rising above the cornfields. The starlight was so dim and the darkness around them so deep that they could hardly see each other's silhouettes. Out in the fields small nocturnal creatures were going about their daily routines of eating or being eaten, oblivious to the complicated troubles of the humans' world.

"Why are you doing this?", Leonard finally asked.

"Doing what?", the agent replied, looking over the cornfields. Other people in this situation would have asked themselves if they were really doing the right thing, if they had really drawn the correct conclusions, but David Rossi had never been much into self-doubts.

"Staging the perfect setting for my fantasy."

"According to your file you're living with these fantasies for more than twenty years now and you've never ever tried to fulfill them. You fear you'll lose control sooner or later and that's why you spend your life in self-imposed custody. Did it ever occur to you that you might simply be overreacting? Paying too much attention to what others would dismiss as disturbing, but unreal images? Hypochondriacs have a disturbed sense of self-perception which leads them to believe that they're gravely sick all the time."

"Are you telling me I'm suffering from hypochondria and I'm not a potential serial killer?"

"You should learn to trust yourself, Leonard, instead of running away."

The attack came fast as lightning. Carter's belt was around Rossi's neck before the profiler had even realized the elderly man had taken it off. This was the hardest part. Everything in Rossi screamed to defend himself and it took all his will to let his strong arms dangle limply at his sides. Carter pulled at the leather. Gasping for air, the agent sank to his knees. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. His heart galloped at top speed. A slight, very slight hint of a doubt crept up in the back of his mind. His will power flickered, wavered… what if he had been wrong after all … was it too late?

Carter released his hold on him. Panting and shaking, Rossi removed the belt from his throat. For a moment they both simply stared at each other.

"You couldn't finish it", the senior agent finally said.

"Not this time", Leonard whispered hoarsely. "But you have no idea what I felt inside." He turned and left Rossi alone.

Standing alone in the silent night, the agent realized that nobody, not even one of the world's best profilers could ever truly know what was going on in another person's mind.

The next morning, when the FBI people were finally gone and Dr. Bell was about to call his colleagues together for a conference – they had a lot to discuss; the institution would have to move again – the psychiatrist found an envelope on his desk. It contained a check, signed by David Rossi, and a note, instructing the doctor to use the money for Leonard Carter's permanent stay in his custody.


End file.
